The Odyssey || 𝗕𝗿𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗪𝗮𝘆𝗻𝗲

Nine | Break

Lucy's Cabaret was quite the hotspot, especially on a late summers night in Gotham City. It was a purlieu, a perfect place to go if one needed to "blow off some steam" or say, cheat on their significant other with one of the many skimpily clad waitresses or ecdysiasts. It was home to criminals, thugs, evildoers of all sorts, a place where they theoretically felt safe outside of their own hole-in-the-wall hiding space.

Sometimes it was home to Falcone's lackeys. Like Artie, Marcelo, Marco, Sidney...

And Seymour.

Typically, Seymour only went to Lucy's on a good Thursday night, maybe with a few others like Sid, or Bruno, but tonight, he needed to be alone. He needed to clear his head.

The boss was going to kill him. Hell, both of them were.

He was more scared of the princess than he cared to admit. She freaked him out, only a little. She had this kind of persistent look in her eye, a sparkle of some terrifying restraint like she was trying to stop herself from becoming unhinged. She was going to snap one day.

"Bye Seymour! Call me!" Stacey or Chastity or something of the like twiddled her fingers in a goodbye as he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away from the lively bar. On his good Thursday night, he would respond with a sly comment about her ass, but again, he was far too troubled.

As he turned the corner into the dark alley, hands in his back pockets and head lowered in despondent thought, he kicked a can. It was nearly two in the morning, the near completely dark narrow corridor hinted at that, but whoever cared these days?

Who knew The Coon could be so ruthless? His plans for the woman were quite threatening. It could've easily been all talk, considering it was his kin—his only relevant kin—and that he would have nothing without her, but her lack of cooperation was making him dangerously angry.

Falcone honestly had no care for her either way. She was a pain in the ass, snooty rich kid lawyer who needed to be taught a lesson in respect. The fact that he held high respect for her father was the reason why she was still alive—and perhaps the fact that she was the last option they had.

Of course, it would be Seymour who had to be the close man.

It won't be hard Seymour, it's just a little lady.

Little lady his ass, that woman had balls the size of coconuts.

"You've been busy, Seymour." A dry and deep voice called from the darkness in front of him, halting his movement immediately. His eyes widened and he took a few steps back.

"Why are you harassing Elizabeth Jefferson." He took a step out of the darkness with an already half scowling expression.

The man could only stare for a moment before clearing his throat very slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The dark figure narrowed his eyes. "You know I have eyes everywhere, Seymour."

This wouldn't be the first time the man ran into the Hellion known as the big bad bat. Years and years of federal offenses accidentally landed him on his radar. Their last encounter, roughly a year and a half before, left Seymour in a state of say, "better thinking", paired with a little cheek scar. That was really until he was picked up by the Falcone beat.

"Listen here, I ain't got time for this tonight." The small-time Italian threw his hand forward with dismissal, beginning to turn away. "I'm a tax paying American, I got other things to attend to." He tried to put his best foot forward to make a casually subtle escape, but the slink like cord he hated to call familiar wrapped around it, snatching it from under him.

His chin clipped the rugged surface of the concrete, his tongue between his teeth as he was dragged backward and upside down.

He was stuck now, bleeding from his mouth while hanging upside down a few feet above the ground.

"I asked you a question, Bertolini." The dark knight stepped in front of him with his narrowed white eyes and his arms behind his cape. There were at the same level now, and Seymour had to squeeze his eyes shut to cancel out the blurry vision he was getting from the blood rushing to his head. "And I won't ask again."

Seymour groaned lightly. "They want her to take over."

"Who."

"Jefferson..." he muttered.

The obvious assumption was Joseph Jefferson.

"Who else." He said, dryly, taking into consideration the aforementioned pronoun he used.

There was no use in holding back now. And with a rapidly swelling tongue and a flourishing headache, who would even think of wasting their time getting hurt even more?

"The mob...Falcone's men." He was probably close to passing out.

The bat creased his brows beneath his cowl.

It was long since known that Jefferson and Falcone were thick as literal thieves. Elizabeth was an enemy of Falcone, that much was true, considering she was flushing him out of her rather large corporation, cutting off his cash flow. Falcone was Jefferson's way of keeping power within the confines of Black Gate Penitentiary. There was a way of telling which one had more power in this situation—Joseph Jefferson still had more money than possibly anyone in the city, but it was still a mystery as to why he still hadn't bought his way out.

Way to add another question to the box.

But to remove one...

"Marino, Betoli, Moretti, and Romano." He started. "They all turned themselves in last week. Friends of yours?"

Seymour's face was numb. "God...They were on the princess' case. They're all under Falcone, all of 'em. Can I get down now?"

"One more question." He answered gruffly. "What would two enemies of the East End want her for?"

"She holds Gotham in the palm of her hand. East, North, West, South, hell she controls it all." He tried his best to shake his head. "And she doesn't even know it yet."

Second strike. Elizabeth Jefferson was, in fact, more powerful than she knew. Jefferson Inc. was the mob's biggest donor, had been for years, but there was never enough evidence to put Gweneth away for anything. Jefferson was smart. He even kept two rivals rich enough to keep a feud for cover.

But he wasn't smart to assume his own child's loyalty.

Elizabeth was seemingly putting an end to them.

One mobster at a time...

The sharpness of a blade cutting wire made itself evident as Seymour himself yelped, falling to the ground. "Tell Falcone that you're done." He didn't look down at him. "Don't let me catch you out here again."

And just like that, he was gone.

Seymour sat up against the wall amongst the trash and rats, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth and looking into the darkness. "I got half the mind to sue ya'." He muttered, with bitter defeat.